


Small Magic

by thischarmingand



Series: Glad I Didn't Die Before I Met You [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Existential Crisis 2: Wizard Boogaloo, Hand Jobs, M/M, NOT 97-compliant, Temporary Character Death, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thischarmingand/pseuds/thischarmingand
Summary: I want to know you better,Caleb had said. Essek had been foolish to assume the offer went both ways.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Series: Glad I Didn't Die Before I Met You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649848
Comments: 8
Kudos: 267





	Small Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! If you have not read '[ _Soft Offering_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840894),' the first of this two-part series, please do so. Things will make at least somewhat more sense.
> 
> Content warnings: More temporary character death discussion, a little bit of non-explicit smuttiness.
> 
> A fun game you could play this time: Guess where I was in this fic when the feed for the Episode 97 live show finally went live, and where I picked it up the next morning, while hungover and frantically reblogging forehead kisses.

Essek is fairly certain the spell should not be giving him this much trouble. He’s been over the glyphs several times. It’s elegantly simple in theory — a few tugs on the threads of time to create a small tear, a rip of space briefly outside its influence. He can see the shape of the thing, understand the intent, but to begin to cast it—

“Essek, I hope I am not disrupting you,” Caleb says softly in the back of his mind. His voice sounds hoarse, as if perhaps he’s just woken from sleep. “I’d like… could you tell me about your day? I’d like to hear your voice.”

He glances at the clock. Far too late to have made this little progress on his research. He should have begun his trance over an hour ago if he hopes to keep to tomorrow’s schedule. 

“I’m studying a new spell. I think you would find it interesting.” Perhaps they will look it over together when the Nein return from their latest set of adventures. It’s a pleasant thought. The changed nature of their relationship has yet to lead to much difference in Essek’s daily life, but there are small things. The promise of an evening of study with his knee pressed against Caleb’s, or how much easier it is to push through discomfort and say, honestly, “It is nice to hear you as well. What prompted you to—”

A miscount. He can feel the magical channel between them snap shut. Hopefully Caleb will know what he meant. 

Rosohna at this hour is as quiet as the city ever gets. Essek can hear faint sounds of movement in the street below his tower. Servants beginning their days, a few upper class households still ending theirs. 

There is no further message. 

“Caleb? Did I lose you to sleep again?” He keeps his voice soft as well, in case he’s correct. Humans need so much rest. "You've caught me up late as well, I'm afraid. I'm already dreading morning audiences at the Bastion."

“Sorry, I did not mean to—” Caleb lets out an unsteady breath. “I am out of spells. We are all fine but... it was a bad day. I'll be better tomorrow.” 

With context, the strain in his voice is easy to recognize. Essek has bloodied his hands enough times to know what someone sounds like when they have passed the point where there is value in screaming.

There are too many words in his head. Questions must be discarded. Caleb says he is fine and therefore Essek will choose to believe he is in no immediate danger. If assistance were required, surely he would have asked. Knowing the Nein, an explanation is likely not available in twenty-five words or less. 

“I am sorry I cannot be there,” Essek says at last. Honest and useless. “Will you message me when you are planning to return to Rosohna?” 

“Ja.” Caleb’s voice is hard to hear, even in the confines of his own skull. “We should be home in a few days, once we have finished with things here. I will speak with you then. Gute Nacht.”

Essek sits awake at his desk for longer than he should, when he knows Caleb will not contact him again.

* * *

When assessing the risks of a further attachment to Caleb Widogast, Essek had somehow managed to be both overly pessimistic and overly optimistic. In the months since his first life began again, the Nein have spent perhaps six days combined in the capital. On one occasion, duties in the dungeons led him to miss them entirely, save for a brief exchange of conversation with Jester. 

He and Caleb have eaten dinner together twice, once with the Nein and once without. They have taken one pleasant walk through a garden maze. They have kissed exactly three times: Once in Essek’s tower and once in Caleb’s study and once after their group dinner, when Caleb had used Essek's shirtfront to pull him into the alcove leading to the Xhorhaus’ rooftop garden. His pale skin had been flushed from drink and conversation and he’d kissed Essek long and slow and heated. 

He has thought about that third kiss more than he would care to admit, in quiet moments when his mind should be on his spells. 

Outwardly, however, little would seem to have changed. Certainly, he’s not rushing to inform the high council of his newly acquired conflict of interest. He’s not even quite sure what the rest of the Nein know of their courtship, if it can be called that. At that same dinner Jester had taken special care to point out Caleb’s favourite dishes, then asked Essek if he was in love with the Bright Queen. Beauregard’s teasing has remained the same. He’s caught Yasha staring at him once or twice, which could be significant, though they’ve not yet crossed paths enough times for Essek to feel confident making predictions. 

They had offered each other time, but there is little of that to be found in the middle of a war. Essek has his own obligations of course. He is hardly waiting in the window pining for Caleb. 

Still. It is a long eight days until Jester’s voice slips into his thoughts once more. 

* * *

Each time their paths cross, Essek finds himself playing the same game of spot the difference. Interpretation of details is essential to his work, but as in many things, the details tend to be more colourful and strange here. An unfamiliar lichen growing on Caduceus' breastplate. New mechanisms attached to Nott’s crossbow. A tattoo creeping up the back of Beauregard’s neck. Fjord’s abrupt change of accent and physiology. New freckles across the bridge of Caleb’s nose after a visit somewhere with sun.

This evening Jester’s animal companion is wearing a heavy velvet ribbon in a shade butter yellow that has not been in fashion in the Dynasty within Essek’s lifetime, but which he understands is favoured in the Shimmer Ward of Rexxentrum as of late. It does not particularly flatter the weasel, which is intently biting its way through several strong knots. 

Yasha has made great strides on the bone harp, which Essek praises. He cannot pretend to miss the bone flute as much as the rest of the Nein. 

Caleb eats well, smiles at jokes, responds when spoken to. His hair seems a bit longer than Essek remembers and there is a tear in the cuff of his purple coat he has not yet seen to mending. There is nothing about him to suggest Essek should worry.

Under the table, Frumpkin stalks in restless figure eights, twining first around Essek’s ankles, then Caleb’s, then back again. When Essek reaches down to pet it, Caleb’s familiar shies away from his fingers, only to circle back to rub against his calf once he’s backed off. They are most of the way through some sort of soup course before Caleb notices and snaps the cat away, the easy lines of his smile never faltering.

Whoever trained him really was quite thorough. 

He’s happy to agree, when Beauregard suggests they move to the hot tub. It provides for a window of opportunity.

“May we speak privately for a moment?” His hand on Caleb’s elbow draws several pairs of eyes. Essek will pay for this in jokes later. At one point that might have honestly bothered him. 

“Of course.” He meets Esseks gaze, and there’s nothing there but cool calm. It’s been a while, then, since he tried this on anyone who knows him in daily life. Whatever version of himself he’s playing now, it’s a character Essek hasn’t met. 

The rest of the Nein leave. Eventually. Beauregard gives him a look on the way out that suggests a conversation for which Essek will need to make up several excuses to leave.

“Was there something you needed?” Caleb’s hand lights on his arm, and Essek realizes he has not let go of his elbow. 

“How are you?” he pitches his voice lower, so it won’t carry. They’re alone in the room, but the Xhorhaus could rival the Lucid Bastion for eavesdroppers and prying eyes. 

Caleb smiles. It is a little crooked, just weary enough to project honesty. “It is good to be back.”

A sweet sentiment. Essek doesn’t doubt there is truth to it. It does not answer his question. “I have been thinking about you,” he says, “I had hoped we could further discuss the night we spoke.”

“I hope that was not too disruptive,” Caleb says. 

They could spend quite some time on reassurances, he’s sure. Long enough another member of the Nein would surely interrupt. Not a bad gambit. “If there is anything I should know—”

“It would hardly concern the Dynasty.”

“—as a friend,” Essek says. “It has occurred to me that I do not know — we have certainly experienced extraordinary days with each other, but perhaps not enough to know what good or bad truly means for either of us. I would like to understand. To offer more comfort when I can.”

It comes out somewhat more rehearsed than when he had prepared it at the tower. Essek hopes the stiffness is most pronounced in his head. 

For a moment, Caleb’s fingers tighten on his arm. The carefully constructed honestly of his smile does not change, but his eyes dart away, following shadows in the corners of the room. “Sometimes it is good to hear a friendly voice when you are licking your wounds. You are already good at that.”

“Then I hope you will keep speaking to me when you need to.” Essek says, and that has not come out correctly at all, either in form or in tone.

“You’re a good person, Essek Thelyss,” Caleb says, softly. Other than his eyes, he’s been holding himself so still through their conversation. There’s really no physical tell, before Caleb ducks down and kisses him, quick and hard and a little off centre. “We should join the others before someone gets ideas.”

Essek leaves for the night without answers to questions asked or implied.

* * *

“Do you like it, Essek?” Jester looks up from the hand mirror with a coquettish smile and a toss of her hair that would make several of the lower-ranking figures at the Bastion quite furiously jealous. A series of fine gold chains drape artfully between her horns. In the candlelight, the small celestial charms adorning them glimmer against her dark hair. It’s a striking effect. Essek has not had much reason to examine Thierlly’s horn adornments over the years, but as he would have expected, the craftsmanship is unparalleled. 

“I think we are both about to spend far too much gold,” Essek says, carefully fingering an ear piece in poured silver. It is one of Theirlly’s more geometric designs, lines reminiscent of the spiderweb cracks in a pane of shattered glass. It would rather pleasingly offset a jacket he’s been considering commissioning. “I had a feeling you would appreciate this shop.” 

“You should definitely buy that one,” Jester leans over his shoulder to get a better look. “Oh, and you should get that for Caleb.”

The item she points to is a swirl of stiff, curving wires in mixed metals. Not Essek’s preferred style, but he supposes it could favour Caleb’s colouring.

“For his hair,” Jester says, filling in the remaining blanks. “He’s always complaining it gets in his face but he won’t let Yasha braid it. I bet he’d wear it if you got it for him. And you have way more gold than me right now, let’s be real.” 

At least one of those observations is true. Essek rarely has call to purchase healing potions or items enchanted for battle for himself, but it is prudent to keep an eye on the consumer market. The last pricing reports had been grim. 

He buys the item. If nothing else, it will save him some scrambling the next time a half-forgotten social event requires a gift. 

They are considering a window display of slightly risque purpleheart sculptures several storefronts over when Essek picks up the conversational thread. “There was something I was hoping we could discuss today…” 

Whoever trained Jester to hide disappointment was also quite good. He would not catch the falter in her smile at all were it not for her reflection in the glass. “I guess I was wondering why you wanted to hang out with me today.”

By the light, he has been a _prime_ ass.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about your Traveler,” Essek finishes.

Jester stares. “What?”

“You had your large gathering recently, if I am correct? The Luxon has not yet manifested to any of my people, so far as I know. I would like a point of comparison for my studies.” He casts around the street, spots a familiar hanging sign halfway down the block. “There is a small cafe near here that specializes in several Xhorhasian delicacies that you may not yet have experienced. Perhaps we should consider an early lunch?”

Jester eats most of their order of sweet lotus paste rice cakes, as expected. The conversation which accompanies the meal is… less predictable. Essek is not sure if it is better or worse, to know Jester has been talking up his looks to an arch fey rather than a god.

“And I didn’t even mind helping trick all of them, because he wasn’t going to trick me. But now he’s being super weird.” Her tail beats a soft rhythm against the floor under her chair and she cups her tea to her chest, as if it were a child’s comfort toy. “I thought it would be cool if we went back to the way things used to be when he was around all of the time and I could see him every day and we’d pull cool pranks together… but now it’s like… _man_ , you know?”

“Have you,” Essek tries to think of something useful to offer, “tried talking to him about it?”

“Yeah, sure Essek, that’s going to go great. Hey Traveler, your my best friend and you gave all these cool powers and you gave up being a god to hang out with me. But it's totally fine if I don't want you around as much, right?"

“If I’m following this story correctly, renouncing the godhood was you doing him a favour,” Essek notes. “Not the other way around. You have no debts. Just a… a friend who you used to know differently than you do now. You would not be the first person to need some time to adjust to that kind of change. Even among the consecuted, I understand it can be difficult for those who knew each other in past lives to find a new equilibrium.”

“Even if they,” Jester leans forward, conspiratorial, “hooked up?”

He should have seen that coming. “That is my understanding.”

“But what about soulmates?” She picks up one of the remaining rice cakes, but seems more interested in poking at its soft, pliant skin than eating it. “Like the Bright Queen and the Dusk Captain?”

Essek wonders who’s been telling the Nein about famous Dynastic romances. Not enough to ask, though. If he finds out she’s been reading one of the smuttier fictionalizations that will be another afternoon wasted in pretending to rout out contraband literature at some poor bookseller’s. Though it would almost serve the poor shopkeep the hours of lost income if they have been foolish enough to sell such a work to one of the Nein.

“Some people find a partner who they are able to relate to across many sets of circumstances,” he says, in the end. “It is not a universal experience.”

“Do you think you have a soulmate?”

He should have seen that coming too. _I don’t believe in soulmates_ , is what he means to say. What comes out is, “I don’t know.”

Jester pinches the skin on the rice cake until two small folds stand up in the round dough. It looks a little like the ears of her weasel, from an angle. “Um, Essek? You should know there’s another thing I need to shop for.”

“Of course. What is it?”

She weighs the sweet in her palm, as if she’s assessing something precious. “I need a new diamond.”

* * *

He can hear the chimes over the Xhorhaus’ front door ring together when he knocks. From somewhere deep in the house there is faint shouting, followed by louder footsteps, followed by another set of chimes as Beauregard swings the door inward.

“Hey Essek.” 

Neither the best nor worst choice he could have imagined. “Is Caleb in? I wish to speak to him.”

“He went out early this morning. Said he was gonna buy more paper or something. Ink. Chalk. Boring wizard stuff.” 

It is well past noon. Essek doubts even Caleb is so committed to comparing varieties of stationary. But Beauregard does not appear to be lying about his absence. “If you see him, would you please tell him I called?”

“Yeah, sure.” She starts to shut the door, stops herself and steps outside instead, pulling it shut behind her. “Actually, hey. What’s the deal with you and Caleb?”

This he has been expecting for some weeks. “What do you mean?”

She crosses her arms. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“What has Caleb told you?”

That wrong foots her more than it should as an expositor, though he doubts she’d appreciate such an observation. “Nothing, but—”

“Then there is nothing that is my place to tell you.”

“Holy shit, you guys are actually— Wow, okay. Not where I saw this going,” she blinks heavily several times, as if trying to shake off a blow. 

“If there is nothing else,” Essek says. “I must return to my duties. I will be in my offices at the Bastion, if you are able to pass on my message.”

“Yeah, for sure.” She frowns, shakes her head. “Actually, hey. Wait again.”

“What?” He keeps the frustration from his voice, but finds himself standing with his arms crossed and shoulders raised without meaning to. 

“Just — look, man, take care of yourself too, okay?” She kicks at the dirt, rubs a hand across the back of her neck. “You seem mostly okay and we’re all — everything’s kinda fucked up right now, you know? Shit’s real. Just be careful.”

“Thank you,” Essek says. “And if I may make a suggestion back, you should talk to Jester.”

“I what?” Beauregard’s eyes widen and some of the colour seems to drain out of her face. “How did you — what the fuck — are you still scrying on us?”

Oh, now that is _very_ interesting. 

“As a friend, Beauregard. It is, as you say, a difficult time and I believe she could use a sympathetic ear. But if there is something more you need to discuss—”

“I have to go inside,” Beauregard says, and runs directly up the outside wall of the haus, disappearing into the tee canopy above. It’s really quite a sight. Essek should be quite grateful that Caleb has never displayed the physical talents of his fellow human. 

The thought remains funny just as long as it takes for the truth of it to sink in. 

* * *

Essek is a smart man. Not distinguished. Hardly wise. Not even particularly interesting. But smart, yes. Good observational skills, a head for research, quick wits. He’s traded on these things for decades now. Climbed higher than anyone his age has in centuries on this one admirable trait. 

It should not take so little to make him feel so stupid. 

_I want to know you better_ , Caleb had said. Essek had been foolish to assume the offer went both ways. 

He’s off kilter in the Bastion for the rest of the day. He snaps at a clerk for taking the usual length of time to find a file, lets himself be drawn into an entirely pointless argument over a change in the guard rotation at the dungeons that has to be shut down by the Dusk Captain. He should not draw this kind of attention to himself. He is aloof, he is condescending, he is a know-it-all, surely, but Essek does not need to develop a reputation for having a temper, for being impulsive, immature, _young_ on top of those more manageable flaws. 

He spills tea on a report. Thankfully he is alone in his office by then. It only takes a small spell to recall the shattered teacup to its proper form after he sweeps it from the desk along with the rest of his soggy papers and pens. He could have spent the same amount of energy saving the report. All of his decisions are the wrong ones.

Somewhere over the course of the day Essek has twisted the copper wire in his pocket into looping, tangled mess. Untangling it takes nearly a minute, particularly with still damp fingers. It ought to be enough time to calm himself. It is not.

“Caleb, I wish to talk to you. Please tell me where you are so I do not have to waste Dynasty resources tracking you down.”

There is a long enough pause that Essek has half composed a second, chillier, message when he hears Caleb let out a soft sigh. “I’m at your tower.”

* * *

He is sitting on the front step when Essek gets there. It’s a familiar position now: elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched forward, head hung down. Much of his hair has come free of its tail, providing a curtain for his face. When Essek spells open the front gate, Caleb’s familiar hops from a perch on the steps and pads down the front walkway to greet him. The tips of its ears barely brush the bottom of Essek’s robes, and Frumpkin looks up at him with something like affront, chirruping its displeasure at not being afforded an opportunity to trip him up. 

Essek sighs and scoops up the cat. It is somewhat comforting to hold. Or perhaps he is just stalling. 

“You should come inside.” He shifts Frumpkin to one arm in order to unlock the door. Even with the addition of the cat, there is a sense of _deja vu_ here he does not particularly enjoy.

“I was not out here long,” Caleb says, oddly toneless. “I do not think many people saw me.” 

“I’m sure we can think of some excuse for those who did,” Essek says, letting Frumpkin half-spill, half-leap from his hold in order to explore. “It doesn’t matter. We have more important—”

Caleb grabs for his shoulder.

Essek doesn’t understand how he does it. He’s never thought of Caleb as someone who moves particularly quickly. But for the second time in as many days his mouth is on Essek’s and Essek’s back is against the front door and at no point has he registered the individual movements that would have taken them there. 

Caleb lets out a shuddering breath against his lips, and Essek can feel how it ripples through the rest of him as well, like aftershocks of some distant quake. His hands are cold, almost clammy where they have buried under the mantle to find Essek's skin, and the loose strands of his hair itch against his face until gathers them up in his fist. The motion is more forceful than he’d intended and Caleb makes a raw, broken sound. And—

And Essek is smart. But he’s never been particularly strong. 

Caleb is almost certainly wreaking havoc with the fastenings and fabric of his shirt, but the coolness of his touch on Essek’s low back, on his chest, over his ribs — it feels good. Simple as that. 

It is difficult at any moment not to be aware of Caleb’s humanity, but there are fascinating practical considerations here. The way goosebumps ripple up on his pale skin, the coarse hair covering his arms and chest, the red flush of his mouth and the scrape of his stubble. The body hair in particular is more fascinating than Essek might like to admit. There is a faint but pleasing sound when he drags his fingertips through it in the wrong direction, up Caleb’s sternum, the pressure leaving faint white lines in his pale skin. 

Caleb catches him by the wrist, presses a kiss against Essek’s fingertips. There are twin spots of pink in his cheeks and the blue of his eyes is only a faint rim around the black. Essek watches, entranced, as he wets his lips. “Would you—?”

He guides Essek’s hand downwards with surprising care, for how his is trembling. 

They fumble Caleb’s trousers open together. When Essek slips a hand inside, Caleb seems to give up on holding himself up and slumps into him, face buried in the join of Essek’s shoulder and neck. Even holding him like this Essek has a strange flash of wanting, an ache for the weight of another person he had somehow forgotten he was carrying after a decade or two without. 

Caleb is mostly quiet, but he’s breathing heavy against Essek’s shoulder. It’s the lack of that noise that first alerts him something is changed, even before he notices Caleb has gone still. 

“Caleb?”

“No, I’m fine,” he pulls away from Essek’s grip with a grimace, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “You do not need to worry. I am… having a discussion with Essek. Tell the others not to wait up for me."

Both of them wait a moment out of habit. When another message is not forthcoming, Caleb presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and mutters something in Zemnian that Essek does not catch. 

He is still quite lovely to look at, with his trousers hanging low on his hips and his hair spilling loose on his shoulders. It would not be a hardship to invite him upstairs. 

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, quietly. “Old habits. Bad old habits. I should have told them where I was going.” He smiles, crooked and just a little weary and somehow, this time, much more honest. “I, uh, think I have ripped some of your buttons.” 

Essek looks down at his half-untucked, partly opened shirt. There are indeed a few fasteners missing. Somewhat more concerning, he does not remember taking off the mantle, though it sits in a crumpled heap on the floor. It is, again, going to require so much effort to remove the wrinkles.

“So,” Caleb says, retrieving his own shirt and jacket from the floor. “I suppose we need to talk, ja?”

* * *

They do go upstairs after all. The only piece of furniture Essek owns that can accommodate two people and isn’t a bed is in his study. Caleb leans into his side for a moment, and it is easy to imagine how this could be — many things. Simpler, perhaps.

“When did you die?” Essek asks.

“The day I sent to you,” Caleb says. He sounds tired, but nowhere near as blank as he’d been on Essek’s front step. “Which of them told you?”

“No one, outright. Though there were a few hints.” Another fastening is hanging onto his shirt by a thread. It comes free with a small tug. “What happened?”

“We went to visit an old friend of mine. It didn’t go very well. He, um,” Caleb swallows and looks away, rubbing at one scarred arm. “We had a little group when we were young and he was always just a bit behind, you know? Not stupid, but not quite so fast. Myself and — he was always the biggest one, but we used to think of ourselves as his protectors nonetheless. I have been wondering if there is anything from that time I saw clearly.”

“You fought.” It’s not a real question, when all Caleb’s former friends seem to be _vollstrekers._

“I guess I had it coming. Since I was trying to kill him too.” His fingers leave the same faint white lines Essek’s had when he rubs at his skin. "I was only out a minute or so. Small magic again.”

“Still not that small,” Essek says, taking his hand. “Why not tell me?”

“Because at some point you are going to want to know the rest of this story,” Caleb says. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

“You’ve told me a little about your past. You must know I’ve had time to guess more. What is it you think I am going to do? Cast you out?”

“I think you are probably going to understand,” Caleb says.

“If it helps, I don’t understand this conversation we are having right now,” Essek says. “If you are concerned that you will learn I have done terrible things as well… I must say, I am surprised it took this long.”

Caleb is quiet for a long moment, enough time to for Essek to worry he's slipped back into that earlier blankness. But the expression on his face is thoughtful, the way he looks when he's untangling a spell or trying to formulate the kind of argument that could end a bloody conflict he had no hand in starting.

“I am very good at hating myself,” he says, at last. “And not very good at… any of the other things. Being known and still being cared for is — it’s difficult for me. With the Nein I’ve had time to practice. It’s. Less easy with a new person.”

“I don’t know that I relate,” Essek concentrates on Caleb’s hand. There is a healing scar just above one wrist, skin pink and shiny where it's grown in. “I’m not sure that anyone has tried knowing much about me. I’m not sure I — there are things I have accepted as incommutable and I don’t know if I ever checked to make sure that is strictly true.”

“Sometimes I wish we had known each other much earlier,” Caleb says. “I am sorry if my fucked up shit clashes with your fucked up shit.”

“Sometimes I wish we had too.” Essek leans into Caleb’s side, lets him take some of his weight. It is not simpler, but it is nice. “What do you propose we do this time?”

“I did have something to see you about before I got all,” Caleb pull his hand free and taps at his temple, “tangled up here. I should — I should apologize for that too — I think I needed to get out of my own head for a moment, but —”

“No,” Essek says firmly, “you shouldn’t apologize.”

“Oh,” Caleb looks a little surprised. Pleased, too. “Maybe later we should — I still have not had a full tour of your tower after all—”

“Your plan?”

“Right.” Caleb rummages through the pockets of his jacket, comes up with something in a closed first. “I was thinking I had the right idea at the first of it.” 

He takes Essek’s hand again, presses two small, round somethings into Essek’s palm. 

“I said I wanted time,” Caleb says. “So maybe we can make some?”

Essek looks down at the pair sending stones and feels the beginnings of a smile.


End file.
